Neal judged the quality of paper, the font, the signature. Everything was perfect. Neal had replicated the color border by hand and he had a steady hand. This bill of sale would fool anyone.

So he walked into the shop with a spring in his step. This was the Poland satellite office to a really old and reputable gallery and antique store in England. This office just happened to have an old wooden cuckoo clock that Neal wanted.

He presented the bill of sale to the manager with a flourish and spun some story about picking up the clock personally.

“This is a fake,” the manager said.

“Mr. Wells,” Neal argued. “I assure you that I bought this beautiful piece in London and am merely picking up my merchandise.”

“This is a forgery,” Andrew Wells repeated. He smiled like he had just realized something. “If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the cops.”

Neal blustered but left with little hesitation. Andrew Wells used to live under the radar, a crook of some sort. Perhaps Neal could find out his crime and blackmail Wells into giving Neal the antique clock.